


Beyond the pane, the world is churning

by Raehimura



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: 2017, Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Chirrut lives, Day 2, Fix-It, Force Ghosts, Force-Sensitive Chirrut Îmwe, Kinda, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, SpiritAssassin Week, The Force Ships It, Who is this Jedi?, spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10734090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raehimura/pseuds/Raehimura
Summary: Chirrut dies. But the Force seeks balance. It makes all the difference.For Spiritassassin Week Day 2: Alternate Universe





	Beyond the pane, the world is churning

Baze's hand in his was the last thing he felt.

It stayed with him, a comfort, as the world swirled away into nothing. When he became aware again, he was floating, warm and suspended. He opened eyes that were not eyes and _saw_ : Swirling gray mists surrounded him, mists that he both saw and felt, as if his sight and his Force sense had melded.

He did not know where he was, but he was calm. He felt the unity of the Force around him in a way he never had before, and he would have been content to simply drift here for days that meant nothing if it weren't for the nagging sense he was missing something important. His hand reached out for something, but in the flow of this place, he could not quite remember what.

Before him, a swirl of smoke began to darken and solidify. A figure appeared, hooded in a slate gray robe, and Chirrut felt the ground beneath his feet again, his body settling back into physicality.

"Hello," he greeted amiably, sure that nothing threatened him here.

"Chirrut Îmwe," the figure acknowledged in a rumbling voice. "Devoted Guardian of the Whills."

"In life at least," Chirrut added with a smile. "I am dead, am I not?"

The hooded figure nodded gently. "You may now join the flow of the Force. If you so choose."

"If I choose? What other option is there?"

The stranger's silence is grave, and Chirrut feels the mists around them gather darkly. "These are dangerous times, Guardian. Much lies in the balance. Though you have walked this path to completion, there is still more you could do. People you could save, knowledge you could pass on. The universe has need for Guardians now."

"Is that even possible? Am I not already dead?"

"Not quite. Not yet." Hands slipped from the figure's deep sleeves, steepling in front of its chest. "As we speak, the lives of many are posed on a blade's edge. Their path, and yours, is set. But the Force seeks balance."

He must be speaking to a Jedi — one of considerable mastery, judging by the shivers of power that curled around them at the familiar words. Chirrut knew the truth even as he asked, "And my returning would serve that balance?"

"A small change, the briefest of breaths, would make it possible. It is a small change that will ripple. Still, the choice is yours."

Chirrut thought for a moment. "What of the others? Would this save them or damn them?"

"Your path is your own," the figure intoned distantly. "The Force seeks balance. The ripples are not in our control."

Definitely a Jedi then. But Chirrut was not bothered; he trusted in the Force. Except ...

"What about Baze?"

His hand twitched again, searching for a familiar weight. He had passed on knowing they would find each other again in the Force. But what if he returned and Baze had already followed him? Would he be leaving him to search alone?

For the first time, the figure seemed to hesitate. "Baze Malbus is also poised between worlds, but his faith is not what it once was. We cannot reach him."

Chirrut let out a breathless breath, shoulders firming with relief and resolve. "I can."

The Jedi paused again, but merely inclined his head. "As you say."

"Then yes," Chirrut decided, voice clear. "I have served the Force in life, and if I am to be granted the choice, I would continue to serve."

"Make no mistake about the choice we are offering you, Guardian," the hooded figure cautioned. "If you stay here, your fight is done. You may rest. You will be one with the Force. If you return, it is to a war. There will be more suffering, and you may be alone. There is no guarantee that you can save anyone. All we can offer is a chance — a rare chance — to shift the universe's path the smallest bit toward the light."

Chirrut smiled. "Then that is enough. The Force is with me always. If it would honor me with this chance, then I will take it."

The hooded figure pressed its hands together and bowed deeply, reverently.

"You are a true Guardian, Chirrut Îmwe," the figure intoned formally. "Your choice is worthy of much respect."

The mists became heavy, grabbing at Chirrut with heavy tendrils. Before the rising gray overtook him, the hooded figure spoke again, a smile in its voice. "Go, and drag Baze Malbus back to life kicking and screaming."

 

* * *

 

It happens like this: A gust of wind that may not have been. A grenade blown just slightly off course. A former Empire pilot who reaches the bomb just in time to disarm it. A shuttle that takes off just in time, precious wounded cargo on board, a planet crumbling beneath.

A difference. A chance.

A hope.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be at least one more part to this, but I wanted to go ahead and share the first piece for Spiritassassin Week. Don't hate me for the cliffhanger!


End file.
